Page 40 of Gifted to the Gargoyles

I snake out my tail, letting it run along her calf, to the back of her knee, and along her thigh. I’m rewarded with her shiver. No matter how erotic I found the scenes spun in the romance books I brought back from her realm, they didn’t compare to the reality of Rosemarie. “Not even close,” I tell her. “But for now, we have an audience.”

Reaching for the red dress, she glares at me before lowering it to a puddle next to the shirt, and I’m tempted to snatch both from her, to steal her away and see if her arousal spicing the air is meant for me, Jace, or both of us. Bracing a hand against Jace’s chest, she tugs the material up along her hips. “A little help?” she asks him.

He swallows, and I swear he flushes so red that the pointed tips of his ears turn purple. At least I’m not the only one suffering from her sweet torture. With a shaking hand, he manages to sheath his claws to skim the dress up the generous flare of her hips.

She pulls it tight against her breasts. “Is it supposed to gape like this?”

“Like what?” I need to see. Taking her by the hand, I twirl her to face me. The gown fits her legs so tightly that she stumbles a half-step, and Jace rushes to keep her upright. Of course, she can’t clutch the fabric, release my hand, and keep her balance. The strapless neckline plunges in a deep V, showing her cleavage.

“It’s perfect,” Jace says.

“Do you want anyone else seeing her breasts?” I ask.

He snaps his mouth shut.

“Out of the way,” the Spidress demands.

I wait for Rosemarie to gather the neckline closed before tucking my wings. Jace doesn’t bother, keeping his spread as if he might fly off with her at any moment. The call to mate thrums through my veins. With him having kissed her and now had her touch him so freely while naked? He must be going insane.

“This color will work,” the seamstress declares. She shifts to stand on four legs while pinning the dress and being handed various gems and trimmings by her apprentices. “We’ll do silver trim and beading with an ornate clasp at the bodice. Some sparkle without overpowering the red of the dress and your natural beauty. I’m thinking a silver tiara…or a circlet, something simple. Have the silversmith start on a design,” she orders an apprentice. “A cape would offset a formal updo with your hair.”

“No,” I snap, and the look the Spidress gives me would have a lesser gargoyle backing down. “Her hair stays down for coronation.” I won’t explain how the long, loose waves embody the wild, free spirit that is Rosemarie at her finest.

“Agreed,” Jace says.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide how I wear my hair?” Rosemarie asks.

I fight the impulse to tell her no as Jace hurries to add, “Of course, my queen.” His quick devotion eases some of the stern set of her jaw. He trails his claws along the strands. “It’s just your hair looks so beautiful when you wear it down.”

She reaches to pat his chest. “I like yours too, especially the braid. Does it mean something?”

“Courage in battle,” he explains.

“He’s undefeated,” I add. While Jace might be modest, I’ll boast as much as necessary to have her proud to call him her mate. Arrogance is rewarded in the paperback books. “Each bead, each hoop represents a year without losing any fight or sparring match.”

She eyes me. “Then why hide yours in a braid behind your head where no one can see?”

I won’t tell her it’s because I failed him. I failed us. I won’t fail her.

Jace snorts. “Because he can’t stand for hair to get in his face and hide his ugly scowl.”

“Asshole,” I mutter.

“Right back at you, brother.”

Rosemarie’s smile is worth it. It’s worth everything. “I’ll wear it down if that’s all right with you, Spidress.”

The seamstress has already moved on to red chiffon. “I’m thinking of adding a drape to mimic their wings.”

“Oh, I like,” Rosemarie whispers.

“Not full ones like the gargoyles,” the seamstress clarifies. “We need to keep the focus on your curves to remind them that you’re queen.”

“How will that remind them?” Rosemarie tips her head as if considering. “Isn’t the crown what they’ll be looking for?”

“She emphasizes your curves because there are no female gargoyles,” I tell her.

“What?” Rosemarie sounds appalled. “But how do you?—”

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